Stacy POV:

As I left the warehouse, a mix of relief and grim satisfaction settled over me. The Irish bastards had paid dearly for their audacity, and I had the information I needed.

The early morning sun was beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the deserted streets and bathing the world in a soft, golden light.

The cool breeze whipped past me as I sped through the quiet roads on my motorbike, the engine's roar a comforting, familiar sound. I let the wind and the thrill of speed wash over me, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the morning's bloody work.

The ride back was supposed to be a rare, peaceful moment, a brief interlude to clear my head before returning to the triplets.

But as I rounded a bend, my instincts screamed a warning.

Three black cars had appeared behind me, emerging from a side street, and they were closing in fast.

My heart raced as I realized they were after me—undoubtedly sent by the Irish to finish what their comrades couldn't. My pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out as I assessed my options. There weren't many.

Outrunning them on these narrow streets would be nearly impossible, and the confined space gave me little room to maneuver.

I twisted the throttle, accelerating hard. The lead car pulled alongside me, its tinted window rolling down just enough to reveal a gun muzzle.

I swerved violently as shots rang out, the deafening cracks echoing through the empty streets. Bullets whizzed past, shattering shop windows and sparking off the pavement.

The second car was right on my tail, trying to box me in. Desperate, I reached into my jacket, my fingers closing around the cold metal of my own gun.

I fired at the driver of the lead car, the recoil jolting through my arm. The glass shattered, and the car swerved, smashing into a parked vehicle with a screech of metal. One down. But there were still two more to deal with.

The second car rammed into my bike's rear wheel, the impact sending a shockwave through my body.

I fought to keep control, the tires skidding dangerously on the slick pavement.

The third car was on my left, trying to side-swipe me into the curb. I dodged, narrowly avoiding a collision, but I knew I was running out of time and space.

With a surge of desperation, I veered into a narrow alleyway, hoping to lose them in the tight confines. The cars followed, their engines roaring louder in the enclosed space.

As I burst onto a wider road, they were still right behind me. The lead car suddenly sped up, trying to cut me off.

With a last-ditch effort, I jerked the handlebars, throwing the bike into a sharp turn. The sudden movement caused the car to overshoot, but I lost control. My bike skidded, the tires screeching against the asphalt.

I felt a sickening lurch as I was thrown from the bike, hitting the ground hard. Pain exploded through my body as I skidded across the pavement, the impact jarring every bone.

I gasped, trying to catch my breath, but then came the sharp, burning pain of a bullet tearing into my side. The force of the shot knocked the wind out of me, and I felt a hot, sticky wetness spreading beneath my hand as I pressed it to the wound.

Dazed and struggling to focus, I pushed myself up on shaky arms, my vision swimming.

The world seemed to tilt dangerously around me as I staggered to my feet, my bike lying in a twisted heap on the ground. The second car screeched to a halt, and the men poured out, guns drawn.

There were three of them, their faces grim and determined. I ducked behind a nearby parked car, gritting my teeth against the agony.

Blood was pouring from my side, each breath sending a jolt of pain through me. I knew I had to fight back, but my body was screaming in protest.

Ignoring the pain, I popped up from behind the car and fired, aiming for the closest assailant. My bullet caught him in the chest, and he fell back with a gurgled cry.

The other two responded with a hail of bullets, forcing me to duck down again. I could hear them advancing, their footsteps echoing on the pavement.

Desperate, I rolled to the side, emerging from cover to take another shot. The second man went down with a scream, clutching his leg as blood spurted from the wound. The third hesitated, giving me just enough time to shoot him in the shoulder, sending him crashing against the car.

Breathing heavily, I scanned the area. The third car had pulled up, and three more men were rushing towards me.

My vision blurred as I felt the blood loss start to take its toll. I staggered, barely managing to dive behind another vehicle as they opened fire.

Bullets whizzed past, shattering windows and denting metal. I fumbled for another magazine, my fingers slick with blood.

I peeked over the hood, firing a few shots that made them scatter for cover. One of the men flanked me, trying to get a clear shot.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, his silhouette reflected in the car's side mirror. I turned and fired, hitting him square in the chest. He fell, clutching at the wound, but another man was already closing in. He lunged at me, a knife glinting in his hand.

I barely managed to block his first attack, the blade slicing through my jacket and grazing my skin. I countered with a punch to his gut, followed by a shot to the knee. He screamed and fell, clutching his leg in agony.

The final two men were coming at me together, one with a crowbar and the other with a gun. I dodged the swing of the crowbar, the metal grazing my arm. Before the other could fire, I shot him in the hand, causing him to drop the gun with a yelp of pain.

But the man with the crowbar was relentless. He swung again, catching me in the side and sending a fresh wave of pain through my already injured body. I stumbled, barely managing to stay upright.

With a burst of adrenaline, I grabbed his arm and twisted, disarming him. I delivered a quick series of punches to his face and chest, knocking him to the ground. The last man, seeing his comrades incapacitated, tried to run. I fired a warning shot into the air, and he froze, hands raised in surrender.

My vision was dimming, the world around me spinning. I took a step forward, and my legs buckled beneath me.

I fell to the ground, the pain in my side flaring with a white-hot intensity. My hand pressed futilely against the wound, the blood still flowing.

The last thing I saw was the man running away, his silhouette disappearing into the distance as darkness closed in around me. The world faded, and I slipped into unconsciousness, the echo of gunfire and the taste of blood lingering as my mind went blank.

Niklaus POV:
(for those that have forgotten this is the russian mafia don aka elliots friend/who he lives with)

The morning air was still and cold as I made my way through the quiet streets, savoring the calm before the chaos of the day.

As the head of the Russian Mafia, moments of peace were rare, fleeting. My life was one of calculated control, a tightly wound coil of power and precision.

I was not a man easily surprised or moved, emotions were a luxury I could not afford. Yet, as I turned a corner, something broke through my well-constructed facade—a woman lying prone on the ground, a wrecked motorbike beside her.

I approached cautiously, my senses on high alert. The closer I got, the more I noticed—the blood pooling around her, the torn clothes, and the unmistakable tattoos on the necks of several dead men scattered nearby.

Tattoos that marked them as members of the Irish Mafia. My jaw tightened. This was no accident; it was a calculated assault. My eyes shifted back to the woman.

She was young, her face bruised and bloodied, yet even in this state, there was an undeniable beauty to her—high cheekbones, full lips, an ethereal quality that struck me despite myself.

She was unconscious, barely breathing. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, her skin pale against the dark stains of blood.

Whoever she was, she had clearly fought back, and fought hard, judging by the damage to the men around her. It intrigued me, this juxtaposition of vulnerability and fierce resistance. But intrigue or not, she was in critical condition, and there was no time for hesitation.

I scooped her up, her body limp in my arms. Her head rested against my shoulder, and I felt the warmth of her blood seeping through my shirt, a stark reminder of her injuries.

The streets were empty, the early hour granting us a cloak of anonymity. My thoughts were a storm of calculations and unanswered questions. Who was she? What had she done to deserve this? And more importantly, what trouble was she bringing to my doorstep?

Arriving at my estate, I bypassed the main entrance, heading straight for the discreet side door that led to the medical wing. The estate, a fortress as much as a home, was equipped for situations like this.

We had medical facilities that rivaled hospitals, a necessary precaution in my line of work. I laid her gently on the pristine white bed, the contrast of her bloodied form stark against the clean sheets.

Immediately, I summoned the on-call doctor, a trusted woman who knew how to handle delicate situations. As I waited for her arrival, I took a step back, observing the girl with a critical eye.

Her injuries were severe, a bullet wound in her side the most prominent, but there was no way to know the full extent without a thorough examination.

Despite the severity of the situation, I made a conscious decision not to inspect her injuries further. It wasn't out of squeamishness or reluctance to help, but out of respect for her privacy.

Even in her unconscious state, it felt wrong to invade her space more than necessary. She was a stranger, and the last thing I wanted was for her to wake up feeling violated or uncomfortable, knowing a strange man had examined her body without her consent.

Instead, I focused on what I could do without crossing that line. I grabbed a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water, carefully cleaning the dirt and blood from her face.

As the grime was wiped away, her delicate features emerged—despite the bruises and cuts, there was a haunting beauty to her. She was captivating, even in this state. Her serene expression, now clearer, seemed almost out of place considering the chaos she had endured. I found myself lingering on her face, a curiosity piqued despite myself.

The doctor arrived shortly after, a no-nonsense woman with a steady hand and a sharp mind. She greeted me with a curt nod, understanding the unspoken boundaries I had set.

Without delay, she began a thorough examination, assessing the woman's vitals and injuries. I stood back, arms crossed, watching with a cold, calculating gaze. The doctor worked efficiently, checking the bullet wound and other injuries without hesitation.

As she worked, my mind raced. The presence of the dead men, their tattoos, and the violence of the attack—it all pointed to a deeper, more dangerous narrative.

This woman was involved in something, something significant enough to warrant an armed assault.

Yet, who she was and why she was targeted remained a mystery. My instincts told me she was more than just an innocent caught in the crossfire.

There was a story here, one tangled in blood and secrets, and now it had crossed paths with mine.

While the doctor continued her work, I couldn't ignore the thoughts swirling in my mind. Despite my usual detachment, there was something about this situation that gnawed at me.

The girl's beauty, even in this state, was striking, but it was her resilience that intrigued me more. She had clearly fought for her life, and now, in my home, she was at my mercy.

A dangerous place to be, yet she had no choice. For now, my priority was clear: keep her alive. The questions, the consequences, would come later.

As I stood there, watching over her, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of chaos she had brought into my life and how this unexpected encounter would unfold.

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A/n:

Tysm @Gottalivewillow for inadvertently giving me the inspiration for this chap!

Tysm for reading love you all don't forget to vote and comment!

WC: 2169